


i've got this friend

by alotofthingsdifferent, fromiftowhen



Series: if the right one came along [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, High School AU, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 20:25:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3424421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alotofthingsdifferent/pseuds/alotofthingsdifferent, https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromiftowhen/pseuds/fromiftowhen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything with Tom always came easy.  They'd been friends since the fifth grade, when Tom was new to town and showed up at the pond with a shy smile and his skates hanging from the blade of his stick.   They were inseparable, spent their winters on the ice and their summers in the tree house Mike's dad built, sharing ham and cheese sandwiches and root beer and growing up together under the hot July sun.</p><p>They traded baseball cards and secrets, and when they were 14 and their hormones were raging, they leaned in to one another on the dock, their feet dangling in the water, and shared their first awkward kiss. Mike had to jump in the lake to hide the erection in his trunks, and Tom covered his face and laughed and laughed, the sound echoing over the water and through the trees.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i've got this friend

**Author's Note:**

> this started as a tumblr prompt in my ask box from [fromiftowhen](http://fromiftowhen.tumblr.com) and went from a bunch of notfic to almost 12K of what we have lovingly come to refer to as "the heartwrenching thing that will never end". (The prompt was something like, 'i know you're getting married and i'm your best man but you should really know that i'm in love with you.)
> 
> thanks for sharing in the fun with me, amanda! lets do it again sometime! (you know, with that 20K timestamp we have planned!)
> 
> (i'm on tumblr [here!](http://alotofthingsdifferent.tumblr.com))
> 
> title from the song by the civil wars.

Walking across the stage to accept his high school diploma is a little surreal for Michael Latta. He's torn between being ecstatic that high school is over and terrified of what the future holds.

 

As Mr. Schmidt hands him the diploma and shakes his hand, he hears, "Fuck yeah, Latts, we did it!" from the crowd and breaks into an easy grin. It can only be his best friend, Tom Wilson, and he laughs as the rest of the class breaks out into hoots and hollers.

 

As he walks back to his seat, his girlfriend of two years, Jenny Parker, smiles her pretty smile and waves her delicate fingers at him. He takes his seat between Jenny and Tom, the two most important people in his life, and relaxes.

 

Yeah, he thinks. Life is good.

 

\-----

 

Life is really, really good later that night, too. Mike and Jenny spent an hour wrapped around each other in his bed - thank god for his trusting, busy parents - and now he's got an arm around Jenny's waist, fingers skirting with the patch of warm skin between her shirt and jeans while they talk to some of her friends out on Matt Nelson’s porch. (Matt's parents take "trusting" to a whole new level, letting him throw a graduation party for their entire class.)

 

Tom is nowhere to be found yet, but he's sure he'll run into him soon. They usually end up carpooling to these things together, or walking over if they think they'll drink, but Tom's been kind of distant the last week and Mike still hasn't quite figured out why. He still sees him every day, but Tom will space out some and just isn't quite his normal, lovable self. Mike caught him staring like five times the other day, just zoning out on Mike's lips or his arms as they'd gone on their daily run together, and it was... it was something.

 

Jenny says something low in his ear, and he startles back into the conversation.

 

"What was that, babe?"

 

"I said, take a walk with me. It's such a nice night out."

 

Mike grins. 'Take a walk with me' is code for 'let's find a less crowded place to make out' and Mike is all for that. He loves his life.

 

They pass Tom as they're walking, and Mike can tell by the glaze in his eyes that Tom's already had a few. He grins and holds up his fist for a pound. "Hey man, where've you been?"

 

"Around," Tom says with a shrug. "Hey, Jenny."

 

Jenny gives him a small smile and a wave, leaning further into Mike in a move that feels--possessive, and that's new, Mike thinks. He's too buzzed and happy to read anything in to it, though, and when she tugs on his hand to keep them moving, he goes.

 

"Catch you later, man," Mike says.

 

"Yeah, uh. Find me, ok? Have something to tell you."

 

Jenny's pulling on his arm now, and he throws Tom an apologetic glance over his shoulder as he lets himself he pulled away.

 

"What was that about?" he asks her when Tom is out of earshot.

 

She shrugs, squeezing his hand. "Just want you all to myself tonight, I guess," she says, leaning back against the tall oak at the far end of the yard.

 

"Just tonight?" he teases, leaning in to slip his fingertips along the soft skin just beneath the hem of her shirt.

 

"No," she says softly, swatting his arm playfully.

 

Maybe it's something about the way she's standing there, her soft blonde hair framing her pretty face, or the way the moonlight is spilling on the grass all around them, or maybe it's the weird distance Tom has put between them this past week, making Mike feel off-kilter and strange.

 

Whatever it is, he's suddenly on one knee in front of Jenny, cradling one of her delicate hands in both of his.

 

Her eyes are wide and her free hand moves to cover her mouth when he says, "How about you have me all to yourself forever?"

 

Jenny's eyes widen in shock, and for a second Mike thinks about scrambling to his feet and blaming it on the alcohol, but then she breaks into a wide smile.

 

"Michael Latta, are you proposing to me?" She asks, a teasing tone in her voice that Mike knows means she's happy.

 

"I want to be with you. I _always_ want to be with you. I know we're young, but we're good together. You're so beautiful and you put up with me, and you know me better than anyone," he rambles, even though the last part twinges a bit and he gets a quick flash of Tom's face when he says it.

 

"Baby, you don't have to convince me. I love you."

 

"Okay," he says, relief and excitement coursing through him. He feels like he just bag-skated and is finally coming up for air. He buries his face in the soft cotton of her shirt and breathes in.

 

"But you do still have to officially _ask_ me," she chides, pushing at his head to make him look up at her.

 

Oh, well. Yeah. Shit.

 

"I don't - I don't have a ring," he admits. He glances around for something - a spare engagement ring, who even knows - and his eyes land on the expanse of weeds - _wildflowers_ , the romantic part of him corrects. He leans over and picks a couple - red, purple, a pretty yellow - and twines their ends together.

 

"Marry me?" He asks, his hands on her waist, his heart in his throat.

 

She smiles and nods, tears gleaming at the corners of her eyes.

 

He's on his feet in a second, kissing her, one hand tucking the flowers behind her ear.

 

\----

 

Mike bursts through the door, spotting Tom at the other end of the room, leaning against the wall by himself and nursing a beer.

 

"Tommy!" he yells, waving a hand to grab Tom's attention. Across the room, Tom's face lights up, and Mike smiles as he winds his way through the room to him.

 

"Latts, I've been looking for you, I wanted to talk to you," he says, and Mike falters.

 

"Oh, dude. I'm sorry. Jen and I --"

 

" _You got distracted_ , I know," he interrupts, with the tone of someone who's heard that same excuse a hundred times.

 

"No, dude! We got _engaged_!"

 

Tom spits out his beer and Mike thinks briefly that he looks like he's going to puke. His face pales and his empty hand balls into a fist at his side.

 

"I'm... I'm way more drunk than I thought. You _what_?"

 

"I fucking proposed, man, and she said yes!" Mike kind of yells it in his face, and a couple people turn toward him, but he waves them off. Tom's his best friend. He needs to know first.

 

His eyes widen and Mike still thinks he looks a little sick. He runs a hand through his hair, shorter than it usually is, if only so his mom won’t  sigh every time she looks at his graduation pictures in the future.

 

"Uh, jeez. I mean, congratulations, dude?"

 

"Sound more excited, Tom, please," Mike bites back, and then feels kind of guilty. He did just kind of spring it on him.

 

"I mean. Why, though? She's not pregnant is she? I thought you were wrapping that," he says, quieter.

 

"I love her, man. I mean, who else is going to put up with me?"

 

Tom just... _deflates_.  He reaches out to squeeze Mike’s shoulder before muttering a congratulations and pushing past him. “Tom!” he shouts before he can get very far.

 

Tom turns over his shoulder, his face unreadable.

 

“Be my best man?” Mike says, flashing a grin.

 

Tom’s face falls, but he nods. “For sure, man. You got it.”

\-----

 

The summer passes in a flash of tuxedo fittings, cake tastings, and envelope sealing, and Mike almost can't believe the wedding is only two weeks away.

 

After telling their parents (who were supportive of, if not hesitant about) their engagement, they decided together that there was no real reason to wait.  Mike had planned to play hockey at State, and while Jenny had told him he should still go, he couldn't imagine being there without her, not after they were married. Instead, he'd enrolled at the community college just outside of town and would start, with Jenny, in the fall.

 

When Mike had told Tom about his plans, Tom looked--well, he looked like someone punched him in the gut.

 

"You can't be serious," he said, fists clenching at his sides. "Latts, c'mon, we're supposed to be roommates!"

 

"I know man, and I'm sorry, I just, I can't just up and leave Jenny right after the wedding. We'll still be in the honeymoon phase," he joked, waggling his eyebrows in an attempt to lighten the mood.

 

But Tom didn't laugh. He didn't even smile, he just shook his head sadly and mumbled, "Whatever, man," before walking out of Mike's room and ignoring his calls and texts for four days.

 

He eventually came around, but something was still off, and Mike hated the tension between them. Still, Tom was being a good friend, throwing him a bachelor party and all, and that's how Mike finds himself in a shouting match with him in the basement of Tom's house, the other guys either scattering when their voices start to raise or passed out and not caring.

 

The night started out nicely enough. Tom had made an attempt at decorating the basement - okay, he'd bought a couple Playboys and stuck some pictures haphazardly to the walls, in lieu of an actual, human stripper. (Three of the guys end up taking their shirts off about halfway through, so Mike isn't sure if he should check off the "stripper at your bachelor party" box or not, because 18/19-year-old dudes just should not count.) Most of their friends from hockey who they graduated with show up, and they're all just shooting the shit for a while.

 

Tom is still a little distant, but Mike's determined to end that tonight. He went through the hassle of throwing this party - and bribing his 21-year-old cousin into buying them so much beer, jesus - so Mike figures that counts for something.

 

It's just... Tom is pretty plastered pretty fast. Enough so that Mike thinks he might have started drinking before anyone else showed up, which just... is _not_ Tom at all. He knows how to have a good time, but he's definitely a social drinker. Tom is pretty handsy in general - especially with Mike, _always with Mike -_ but drunk Tom is on another level.

 

When Mike glances over at him from where he's standing talking to Matt, he sees Tom, an arm slung over one of their D-men's shoulders, laughing and sloshing his beer around. He's spilled enough beer now that Mike figures he should maybe step in, save the other guys from the full effect of a drunk Tom.

 

(Mike's pretty sure the most drunk he ever saw Tom - probably the most drunk he's ever been - was like a month after he and Jenny started dating, at a party that Mike honestly remembers very little else about, except that he'd gotten to second base with Jenny right before the party and then bragged about it to Tom right away.)

 

He doesn't have to cross the room to hear what Tom is saying. Drunk and loud always go together when it comes to him.

 

"So I told him it was okay, but I mean, you know, it sucks," Tom says, slurring his s's. "It like, really sucks, y'know?"

 

Mike doesn't have to ask what he's talking about. It's been the same topic all night: anytime anyone brings up their fall plans, Mike cringes. Tom has now told everyone in the room that their plans for playing hockey together at State - their plans for living together - have changed. And he's made it clear he thinks it sucks. Loudly.

 

Mike tries to shrug it off. Tom is drunk and upset and he _gets it._ He's upset about their plans changing too. It just... it doesn't make sense for them _not_ to change, with the wedding and all. He just thought Tom would understand, the way he has so many other times before.

 

So he's about to tune back into his conversation with Matt when Tom's voice catches him again.

 

"I mean, yeah, Jenny is great. She's _greeeat_ , you know? Pretty as hell, we all know that. But I mean. Is it worth it?"

 

Mike grips his beer tighter, taking a deep breath. Tom's never brought Jenny into it before.

 

"Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free, y'know? But she's _great, she's the best,"_ Tom says, and Mike is across the room before Matt has a chance to hold him back.

 

"What the fuck is your problem, Tom?"

 

"Good luck, man," James says to Tom as he waves a few of the guys over and they take the stairs two by two, leaving Mike and Tom mostly alone.

 

"Look, it's the man of the hour!" Tom shouts, waving the hand that's holding his empty Solo cup in the air. Mike grabs it from him and crumples it in his hand before tossing it aside, shoving at Tom's shoulder.

 

"What. The fuck. Is your problem?"

 

"Problem?" Tom blinks. "I don't have a problem."

 

"Don't give me that, Willy. You've been acting like a dick since -- well, since right after graduation."  Since right after Mike proposed to Jenny, but he chooses to believe the two aren't related.

 

"Ohhh, you mean since you got _engaged_ and ditched out on our plans?" Tom's swaying a little, and Mike fights the urge to reach a hand out to steady him.

 

"Come on, Tom, why are you doing this?"

 

"Why are _you_ doing this?" Tom spits back, and Mike doesn't miss the flash of anger in his eyes.  "Why are you getting married, Mikey? You're fucking _nineteen years old_ , what's the fucking rush?"

 

Mike's shoulders slump. He's so tired of having this conversation, with Tom and with everyone. "I thought you liked Jenny," he tries, and Tom's fists clench and unclench at his sides.

 

"I do. I love Jenny, she's _great_ , she's just --" Tom sighs, all the fight draining from him. "Please, Mikey. Don't do this. It's a _mistake,_ Latts, she's not right for you. Don't marry her."

 

All the anger that's been bubbling just below the surface hits Mike at once, and he lashes out, shoving Tom hard. " _Fuck_ you, Willy. I _love_ her. What the fuck would _you_ know about being in love, huh?" 

 

Before he really realizes what's happening, Tom's got him by the front of the shirt, pulling him into a hard kiss that's equal parts painful and amazing.

 

"A lot more than you fucking think," Tom says as he lets go of Mike's shirt and pushes him away. He crosses his arms over his chest, eyes boring into Mike's, daring him to make a move.

 

He's too busy storming out to see the hope drain from Tom's eyes.

 

\------

 

Mike gets two blocks away before he stops in his tracks.

 

 _Jesus_. How the fuck is this happening right now? He knows Tom is drunk; and he always wears his heart on his sleeve - it's one of Mike's very favorite things about him, how it balances Mike's more stoic personality out, how their give and take has always felt natural.

 

But _this_. This is different. _A lot more than you fucking think_ , he'd said.

 

Mike scrubs a hand down his face and turns, heart pounding, back toward Tom's house.

 

His hands are shaking as he takes the stairs down to the basement. This feels like the brink of something big, and normally he'd reach out to Tom to distract him, calm him down.

 

Tom is slouched on the old leather couch --Mike doesn't think about the summer they'd spent wound around each other, sweaty but not from the summer heat - his head in his hands. Mike wants to wrap an arm around him, pull him in, but he won’t.

 

He looks up as Mike's feet land on the last step, and _jesus_ , Mike can see every single emotion he's feeling, vibrant and aching behind his eyes.

 

 _"_ What'd you mean by 'more than you think?'" he asks, his voice quiet.

 

Tom rolls his eyes. "Christ, Mike. Think about it, what do you _think_ I meant?"

 

He sounds far more sober than when Mike left less than ten minutes ago; now he just sounds sad, resigned.

 

"You're my best friend," Mike says, for lack of anything else.

 

"That's how you feel about me," Tom says. It's not a question.

 

Mike sighs. "I'm getting _married_ in two weeks."

 

Tom stands up, and Mike isn't worried about how steady he is or isn't on his feet. For the first time in a decade, Mike is slightly intimidated by Tom's larger stature. He's volatile right now, and Mike knows he's at least partially the cause.

 

"I fucking know that, Mike. I haven't been able to think about anything else. I can barely even..." He trails off, a hand over his mouth, keeping the words in.

 

"What?" Mike prompts, a whisper he isn't sure Tom even hears.

 

"I can't even look at you. I can barely fucking sleep, and when I do, all I dream about is what a nightmare your wedding day is going to be for me," he says, and Mike gasps.

 

"It shouldn't fucking be this way. I should be happy for you. I _am,_ I guess _,_ as long as you're really happy _."_

 

Mike swallows. "I, uh, I am, Tom."

 

"Okay. I just... Tell me why you're doing this now," he says, a pleading tone that Mike is unaccustomed to hearing from him. Tom doesn't usually have to beg to get what he wants.

 

"When you love someone, you just want to be with them always, man, no matter what."

 

It's a simple answer, but it feels right.

 

Tom's eyes cloud, Mike isn't sure if it's tears or the beers catching up with him.

 

He claps a hand on Mike's shoulder, his fingers brushing the sensitive skin of Mike's neck.

 

"Same, man."

 

He trudges up the stairs, his footfalls echoing in Mike's ears long after he's followed him up and headed home.

 

\------

 

They don't talk at all the following day. Or the day after that, and Mike's got this nervous knot in his stomach that he wants to blame on pre-wedding jitters, but knows has much more to do with this thing with Tom.  He had to have misunderstood, right? It was the beer, he told himself, clouding his perception of the situation. Tom didn't--he's not--he CAN'T be.  Can he?  So of course he does what any 19-year-old would do.  He asks his fiancée.

 

Jenny is surrounded by… something? He thinks it’s the beginnings of their table favors, and also that he should probably know the answer to that question, but Jenny and her mom have been pretty on top of the whole wedding thing, especially the last couple days.

 

"Do you… can I help?" He asks, leaning against the doorframe of her mother’s sewing room.

 

She smiles, sweet as always, easy. She pats the chair beside her, and Mike goes, plopping down next to her. She shows him what she’s doing, filling each small basket with a candle and tying a lacy, pale green ribbon around it. Perfect, neat, sweet. Mike does one, and shows it to her. She grins, the laugh bubbling up just as he’d expected.

 

"It’s not great, right?"

 

"Not so much."

 

This is normally where he’d get up and just let her mom or her bridesmaids help her. That’s how it’s been for the last month. But now, he sits, toying with the crooked ribbon long enough that she finally sets down her scissors and looks at him.

 

"Mikey?" He almost cringes. She only calls him that when she knows something is wrong, to lighten the mood; he’s never been able to figure out why or when it started. It’s what Willy calls him when they’re messing with each other: it stings, now. "Are you okay?"

 

"I fought with Tom?" It comes out as a question because he’s not sure how else to phrase it. They don’t fight. They also apparently don’t talk about their feelings, but one is more upsetting than the other.

 

"I’m sorry, babe. I thought it’d been kind of quiet around your house this week. Is everything okay?"

 

Mike glances up at her, shaking his head. “I don’t… no, it’s not.”

 

She frowns, her hand on his knee. She’s dependable. He knows exactly what he’s getting himself into, even so young. She’s tiny, and quiet, blonde and blue-eyed, so different underneath him than the only other person who had ever been there before her. He loves her, he really does. But.

 

"Do you think you can be in love with someone and not even know it?"

 

Her brows knit together in a small frown and she tilts her head at him, blinking twice. “I don’t really know how to answer that? Are you -- what’s going on, Mike?”

 

 

Mike swallows around the rapidly-forming lump in his throat. “I think,” he starts, and he’s starting to regret his decision to bring this up with her. “I think maybe Tom’s... in love with me?” 

 

She stares at him for a long second before breaking out into an easy grin. She’s beautiful, Mike thinks as he tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear. She swats at his arm playfully.

 

 “Be serious,” she says, but when Mike doesn’t smile back, her face goes a little pale. 

 

“Michael,” she says, and he can hear the pleading in her voice. 

 

“I’m pretty sure Tom is in love with me,” Mike says, and Jenny’s blue eyes go a little wide. She snatches her hand from his knee and folds her arms over her chest, hugging herself, her mouth in a thin line.

  

“Well so what?” she snaps. “It’s not like you’re in love with HIM. You’re marrying ME.”

 

He can’t look her in the eye, can’t watch her lower lip quiver as she whispers, "You're not, right Mikey? You're not in love with him."

 

He's quiet for long enough that Jenny stands up, the ribbon that had been in her lap floating easily to the ground, gracefully, sweetly, just like everything else she touches. Mike would laugh if there was anything funny about this.

 

"I can't believe this is happening," she whispers, trying to step around his chair.

 

Mike catches her hand, pulling her gently to a stop. Her wrist is dainty in his hand, pale, and he runs his thumb across her palm, just barely catching on the simple silver ring he'd finally scraped the money up to give her just weeks ago.

 

"Jenny, I don't... I don't know how to answer without lying to you."

 

A small sound escapes her, and for once, Mike has no clue what she's thinking. He has no idea what he's thinking either, but that's not surprising in the slightest.

 

"Just... just tell me the truth," she whispers, a panicky tinge to her voice that he's completely unfamiliar with.

 

"You know that he and I used to... before you and I," he trails off, eyes downcast. They'd discussed it once, but Mike had been a little tipsy and Jenny had been 16 and silly in love. Maybe she hadn't understood. Maybe he hadn't explained it.

 

"You told me you guys used to kiss. I thought you meant like, I don't know... I don't know what I thought."

 

"Maybe I thought that's all it was at the time. I don't think that's all it was to him. Or..."

 

"Or to you, right?" She finishes, and it's the first time he's ever been anything but charmed by her finishing his sentences.

 

He runs his thumb across the silver band again, spinning it slightly on her finger. He glances up, looking at her from beneath his lashes. "Or to me, yeah."

 

 The truth is, he's realized, is that if the tables were turned -- if it were _Tom_ getting married, _Tom_ walking down the aisle to start his life with someone else -- well, just thinking about it makes Mike's stomach clench. And there it is, he thinks. That's his answer. 

 

He really wishes it hadn't taken him this long to figure that out.

 

Unshed tears glisten on Jenny's lashes as she glances down at him. She blinks, and they spill down her cheeks, catching at the corners of her mouth. Mike reaches up and swipes his thumb over her lips, a tender gesture he knows he's lost the right to make. She flinches and leans away from his touch, a shuddering breath escaping her chest.

 

"I think you should go," she says, and his heart aches in his chest as he takes in her profile, the sweet arch of her nose, the pink swell of her lips, parted slightly as she breathes through the steady stream of tears falling from the corners of her eyes.

 

"Jenny," he tries, "I'm --"

 

She shakes her head, and Mike notices, as she reaches up to wipe the tears from her face, that her ring finger is bare. It sends a sharp pang of regret to his chest, and he clambers to his feet, reaching for her.

  

He doesn't move toward her, knows that would make her retreat even further into herself. Instead, he pulls her forward by the waist, his hand gentle, coaxing, and she comes, curling her arms around his neck and burying her face in his neck.

 

It's a position they've been in a hundred times. He used to latch onto her like this when he'd have to go home at night, when the last thing his hormonal, love-sick body wanted to do was leave her. His face always ends up buried in the smooth skin near her shoulder. It's so innocently intimate and so _them_ that his eyes sting with tears.

 

He hears her sniffle where her face is buried and instinct takes over. He doesn't want to hurt her. He's dreamt of his life with her a million times. They'd get married, somehow find the money for a small house with a big yard, and eventually they'd fill it with kids. That was how it was supposed to be.

 

Sometimes his imagination would put Tom there with him, too, eating dinner or playing with a couple brown-haired, blue-eyed little girls. Those were the dreams that usually felt the most vivid. He'd just always assumed Jenny was there too, somewhere.

 

She sniffles again, and he presses his lips to the soft skin at her shoulder, his hands tightening around her waist on instinct.

 

It's too much.

 

She pulls back, her hands dropping to her sides. Tear tracks mar her face, and it's really fucking confusing that Mike isn't sure he's ever found her more beautiful.

 

"I just want you to be happy," she says, her voice wavering. "I thought you were."

 

 "Hey," Mike says, his hands coming up to frame her face. She still won't meet his eyes, and he can't blame her. They'd had exactly one major fight in the whole of their relationship,  the time he was an hour late picking her up for junior prom, showed up on her doorstep wearing a mud-stained tuxedo and a sheepish grin.

 

It had been raining for days, and the roads were muddy and wet, pools of muck forming in the ditches because the rain had nowhere else to go.  Tom was going with a friend of Jenny's, and Mike stopped to pick him up a little early, hoping for a little down time before the posing and smiling and excitement began.  The minute the door opened, though, Tom's beagle pup bolted between his legs and into the storm.

 

They'd spent an hour chasing her up and down the long dirt road that led from Tom's house to the main drag, Mike doubled over with laughter as the pup squirted from Tom's muddy grip and he fell to the ground.

 

Jenny wasn't nearly as amused, and he'd sat with his hands folded in his lap as she went on about how Tom was a bad influence, how Tom should have known better, how of _course_ Tom didn't care if he showed up an hour late in a muddied tuxedo, Tom only cared about himself.

 

"That's not true," he'd told her, jumping to Tom's defense. "None of that is true."

 

She'd sighed then, let him pull her into his lap, mud smearing onto her soft pink dress.

 

"He's my best friend," he'd whispered against the smooth skin of her neck, fingertips ghosting her bare shoulder, pale skin left exposed by the thin straps of her dress.

 

She'd nodded then, let him kiss her until they were both breathless with it, and forgave him.

 

He looks at her now, her lower lip trembling between his thumbs. "Hey," he repeats. "You _do_ make me happy, Jen. You've always made me happy. It's not about -- it's not _you._ You're everything." 

 

She shakes her head sadly, sniffling as she takes his hand. He feels the cool press of metal against his palm, and she closes his fingers around it, squeezing his hand into a fist. "Not everything," she manages. "Because I'm not Tom."

  

He sighs, running his other hand down his face. His fist is curled around her ring, his arm heavy on his thigh.

 

"Jen," he says, simply. They're both openly crying now, and he remembers the last time - the only other time - they'd cried together. His grandfather had just died, the middle of last summer, and she'd just curled herself around him, let him breathe in the sweet, jasmine scent of her hair while he cried. When he'd finally pulled away, wiping his face on his pillow, he'd noticed the tears on her cheeks, too.

 

Dumbly, he hadn't realized at first that they were for him. When he'd brushed a thumb under her eye, wiping the tears but also smearing her mascara, she'd smiled shakily.

 

"Why are you crying?" He'd asked, his voice nasally.

 

"Because you're crying."

 

Now, he clears his throat, tries to smile at her.

 

"Please don't cry." 

 

She laughs then, a sad burst of sound from her lips, and he's surprised that it knocks the wind out of him. "We're not getting married, are we."  It's not a question, not really, but she wants an answer.

 

But he can't. He can't even look her in eye right now, and his hands are shaking as he slips the ring into his pocket.  He stands up, weak-kneed, and laces her fingers with his, dropping a kiss to the top of her head.

 

"I love you, Jen," he whispers. "I always have. I just. I have to know. I can't marry you and then --" he stops himself, thinks back to the guilt he felt back when they'd first started dating, when it was fresh and new and exciting.

 

He couldn't stop talking about her, and Tom couldn't stop rolling his eyes. He was smiling, though, that dopey smile that Mike had come to know so well, and then he'd leaned in, after three beers and a slice of pizza, and kissed him, _just one more time_ , he remembers Tom saying, _please Mike, just...once last time._ Mike didn't stop him -- couldn't -- and the guilt ate at him for two solid weeks.

 

It was the longest he and Tom had ever gone without talking, and he spent every waking second of it with Jenny, burying whatever he might have been feeling for his Tom -- for his _best friend--_ in his budding relationship with her.

 

"You should go," she whispers now, and she's slinking back, shying away from him. "I need you to go now."

 

"Okay," he sighs, letting her fingers drop from his own. "Okay."

 

He moves around her, careful to keep his hands to himself. That part of their relationship is over. Their entire relationship is over, he reminds himself.

 

"Can I... can I call you tomorrow? I don't want you to have to... undo this alone," he finishes quietly. He nods toward the half-finished favors on the table next to them. Those ribbons had been so pretty and perfect half an hour ago, and now the sight of them turns his stomach.

 

She shakes her head, a sad frown appearing on her face. "My mom and I can do it, Mike. It's... it's too much right now, being around you."

 

He nods. He understands. She was getting married half an hour ago. Everything was different half an hour ago. 

 

He gives her a dumb wave and nearly tells her he loves her, so natural that it takes his breath away to not say it.

 

He pulls his phone out when he gets to his truck, thumb swiping right over the picture of him and Jenny smiling together in the foreground while Tom makes an obnoxious face in the background. Jenny had been adorably annoyed about the photo bomb. Mike had thought it was perfect. His two favorite people.

 

 _Can I see you?_ he texts to Tom. They haven't talked since his bachelor party.

 

He drives away from Jenny's in a sort of daze, and it's not until his phone vibrates on the seat next to him that he shakes himself from it. 

 

 _Yeah. I'm home,_ the message reads. It only takes Mike a moment to realize that he's already halfway down the road that leads to Tom's house.

 

He's driven down this road countless times, for parties and sleepovers and backyard football games, to pick Tom up for school every morning, to drop him off at night before heading over to Jenny's for dinner.  It's strange to think about it, how he split his time so evenly between the two of them. It seems selfish now, unfair to both of them. Unfair to himself.

 

In this moment, the slow roll down Tom's drive feels like uncharted territory. His heart is in his throat and his knuckles are white, hands gripping the steering wheel like he's holding on for his life.

 

As he pulls in, the glow of his headlights illuminates the porch, and Tom's already outside, hunched over on the top step with his head in his hands. He looks up as Mike's truck rolls to a stop, and Mike cuts the engine.

 

"Hey," he says, hushed, as Mike approaches, and Mike goes warm all over.

 

"Hey," he replies, standing awkwardly at the bottom step for a moment before swatting Tom's legs over and sitting next to him, turned so he can see his face in the glow of the porch light.

 

He's struck by how fucking gorgeous Tom is. It's the same feeling he'd always gotten when he looked at Jenny - that breathless, almost-sick feeling that left him shocked and happy. And it's the same feeling he's always gotten when he sees Tom for the first time in a couple days. Or first thing in the morning, or right before bed, cramped side-by-side in Tom's double.

 

"Listen, dude," Tom starts, running a hand through his hair and grimacing in Mike's direction. His leg is bouncing, a nervous tick that Mike both loves and despises. And that's when he notices. Tom hates letting his beard grow in the heat of summer, but he's got a couple days’ worth of stubble. There are dark circles under his eyes, and well, he looks like shit. Tall, gorgeous, fucking shit. "I'm sorry, I feel like shit for the other night. I just love you and, uh, Jenny so fucking much. You're my best friend. I just want you to be happy."

 

Tom has always, always been the brave one. Mike hadn't planned anything to say. He'd never had to have this conversation, of course - he had no frame of reference. And talking to Tom was always easy and came naturally - they talked about _anything_ , even when maybe they shouldn't - so he just waits for Tom to get this out, watching his lips move and his Adam's apple bob as he swallows when he finally finishes.

 

Mike leans over and lets his hand rest on Tom's knee, stilling its motion. He rubs his thumb over the top of his thigh and presses in hard enough to get Tom to meet his eyes.

 

"I just want you to be happy, too. That's why I'm here."

 

They're sitting so close that Mike can see the brush of Tom's lashes against his cheeks when he blinks, his eyes going a little wide.

 

"I don't know what I'm supposed to take from that," Tom says, always honest with Mike, always an open book. He'd been blind not to see Tom's feelings for him; they'd been there all along, staring him in the face.

 

Mike chuckles softly, suddenly nervous. He's no good at this, has no idea what to say. Jenny'd been the first one to say I love you, late one night in the back of Mike's truck, a blanket tucked around their legs and her head on his shoulder. It wasn't that he didn't feel it, of course he did. He was just better with grand, sweeping gestures than he was with using his words.

 

"Say something," Tom says, but instead, Mike leans in closer, nosing along Tom's jaw. He can feel Tom's breath on his cheek, warm and familiar, like coming home. "Mike," Tom pleads, and then they're kissing, Mike's hand tangled in Tom's too-long hair.

 

Tom kisses him back immediately, and Mike just falls into it, into the glide of his lips and the soft noise he makes when Mike tugs at his hair, angling his head the way he wants. He sucks on Tom's bottom lip, his teeth catching lightly. He intends it to urge Tom on, make him gasp, reassure him that, yeah, this is finally happening.

 

But instead, Tom pulls away, pushing back against Mike's chest, creating some distance. "What are you doing, dude? You're fucking getting married."

 

Mike leans back into him, catching his hand before he can move it and holding it against his chest.

 

"I'm not, though. We're... not."

 

" _Shit_ , Mike. Are you okay?"

 

He shakes his head, but smiles. In the moment, he's pretty sure he's going insane. "No, I'm fucking devastated. Jenny's the sweetest person I've ever known, but you..."

 

Tom's eyes widen, and it'd be funny if this wasn't the scariest conversation Mike has ever had to have. "Me?"

 

"You fucking terrify me, Tom."

 

"C'mon, Mike," Tom says, placing a warm hand on Mike's shoulder. "It's just me." His fingertips brush Mike's neck, and Mike closes his eyes, breathing in a long, slow breath and letting it out again.

 

 _"_ That night, _"_ he starts, and he has to clasp his hands together between his legs to keep them from shaking. "The party."

 

"Yeah," Tom replies, and his hand is still on Mike's shoulder, his thumb tracing soothing circles on the side of Mike's neck.

 

"Did I read that wrong? Did you -- _are_ you --" He covers his face with his hands, embarrassed and frustrated. "God, why is this so hard?"

 

Everything with Tom always came easy.  They'd been friends since the fifth grade, when Tom was new to town and showed up at the pond with a shy smile and his skates hanging from the blade of his stick.   They were inseparable, spent their winters on the ice and their summers in the tree house Mike's dad built, sharing ham and cheese sandwiches and root beer and growing up together under the hot July sun.

 

They traded baseball cards and secrets, and when they were 14 and their hormones were raging, they leaned in to one another on the dock, their feet dangling in the water, and shared their first awkward kiss. Mike had to jump in the lake to hide the erection in his trucks, and Tom covered his face and laughed and laughed, the sound echoing over the water and through the trees.

 

They went back to Tom’s after and sprawled on the leather couch, flipping through channels in silence. And they’d  always lounged all over each other, it was normal for them,  but now Mike was suddenly super aware of every single place his body was touching Tom's and had Tom always smelled so good? Realistically he smells disgusting, like summer sweat and somehow, dirty hockey gear, but jesus, Mike wanted to to wreck him. But only if Tom wanted that too.

 

He figured out pretty quickly that Tom did want it, because Tom's hand suddenly landed on his leg and he turned towards Mike, leaning in.  Mike didn’t even hesitate, just let Tom kiss him, push him into to back of the couch, straddle his lap.  His hands gripped Tom’s biceps so hard they left a mark, but he didn’t know what else to do with them and he was so hard in his shorts just from Tom’s mouth on his that he thought he might die.

 

Tom groaned into the kiss and shifted his hips just so and Mike fucking _could not_.

 

" _Fuck,_ Willy," he said, digging his nails into Tom's biceps and dragging down. He had no fucking clue what he was doing, but he was desperate for whatever Tom would give him. He didn’t think Tom had a clue what he was doing either - at least, like, they’d never talked about it, if he’d hooked up with _anyone,_ let alone a _guy -_ but he kissed Mike sloppy and wet and dragged his swim trunk-clad hips over Mike's lap so fucking right Mike couldn’t even breathe.

 

"Shit," Tom said, pulling back slightly, his lips pressed just to the right of Mike's mouth. Mike wanted to chase his lips, get his tongue in his mouth and not fucking stop.

 

Mike had a brief moment of panic when Tom pulled back, moving to stand up, and it must have shown on his face because Tom leaned down to kiss him again.

 

He put his hands on Mike's shoulders and eased him down so was laying on his side along the length of the couch, then slid down next to him, working one thigh between Mike's legs.

 

It was-- fuck, it was _perfect_ , and Mike gasped when Tom rolled his hips, one hand resting on Mike's side. "Is this ok?" Tom whispered, and Mike nodded furiously, hands scrambling for purchase on any bit of bare skin he could find. They ended up on Tom's back, Mike's arms wound around him as they made out, wet and sloppy and better than anything Mike's had experienced in his entire life so far.

 

They stayed like that, mouths moving wetly, hips occasionally grinding together (it was  so fucking good that it was almost _too_ good, and Mike was  too overwhelmed to need more) for what felt like hours.

 

Tom's dad's voice was the only thing that pulled them apart, calling down to them that it was time for dinner, and Tom rested his forehead against Mike's, breathing heavy.

 

"Latts, _god,"_ he whispered. _._

 

Mike nodded dumbly, not trusting his voice.

 

Tom stood, combing a hand through his hair, and Mike sat up on the couch, adjusting his shorts.

 

Tom smiled, reaching out a hand to pull Mike up. He overestimated and pulled Mike too roughly, pulling him into his bare chest and sending them stumbling back some. Tom righted them with his hands on Mike's waist, and he was still so fucking revved up that he tried to bite back a groan.

 

Tom's eyes widened at the noise and Mike swore he was leaning back in when his dad yelled down the stairs again.

 

"Guys, dinner, c'mon! Mike, are you staying?" his dad had called, and the’d broken apart quickly, Tom throwing Mike a shy smile over his shoulder as he headed upstairs.

 

"And here I thought I was being pretty obvious," Tom says softly, bumping his shoulder against Mike's and shaking him from the memory.

 

That startles a laugh out of Mike and suddenly everything is easy again. Tom is _his_ Tom again, and _god_ , Mike's missed him.

 

He says so, and Tom smiles - that easy, huge grin that has always been the death of Mike. The one that got them into and out of trouble so often that Mike's lost count.

 

"I'm right here, buddy. What're you waiting for?" 

 

That's it. That's all the push that Mike needs. His lips are on Tom's before he's even aware of what he's doing, and it's like his entire body is on fire. That dull, physical ache that he'd pretended not to notice, that crept up every time he and Tom touched longer than strictly necessary, finally ebbs.

 

When they finally pull apart, Tom's cheeks are flushed and his mouth is deep pink, puffy from the kissing. Mike reaches up and drags the pad of his thumb over Tom's lower lip.  It doesn't escape him that he'd done the same thing to Jenny not an hour ago, in a completely different context.

 

"I'm an idiot," Mike manages, and Tom chuckles, reaching up to catch Mike's wrist in his grip. He presses a kiss to the palm of Mike's hand before lacing their fingers together loosely.

 

"I should have told you," Tom says. "Before, I mean. A long time ago. I just--I didn't want to risk our friendship."

 

Mike nods, and he gets it. He's honestly not sure how he would have reacted had Tom admitted his feelings the summer they were fooling around.

 

"I was going to tell you," he continues. "Graduation night. I'd worked it all out in my head, how I was going to get you alone. What I was going to say." He looks down then, away from Mike, who's stomach has dropped to his feet. "And then you came running in and told me you proposed to Jenny."

 

"Jesus," Mike whispers. He's pretty sure if he wasn't already heartbroken from everything that happened with Jenny, this would have done it.

 

"We could've... I mean... _jesus,_ Tom _."_ Tom glances back up at him and gives him a small half-smile.

 

"Surprise, I guess?" He can tell Tom is trying for light, to diffuse the sudden shitstorm of emotion that's crept up, and normally Mike would glom onto that and not let go. Tom has always known just how to lighten the mood. But he needs to get this out while he's feeling brave enough.

 

"I never considered how my proposing to Jenny would effect you. You've always been my best friend... And then you were - you _are_ \- so much more and I just... I didn't even discuss it with you."

 

"Was I surprised? Yeah, man. You know we all were."

 

(He's right - he and Jenny had fielded question after agonizing question that next week: 'Is she pregnant?', Are you sure you want to do this?', 'But why now? You have forever!', 'Are you SURE she's not pregnant?')

 

Mike rolls his eyes, remembering, but nods as Tom continues. 

 

"But I figured, even if I didn't get to give you the speech I'd planned out... Even if I didn't get a chance to make you feel what I felt, at least you were happy, y'know? That's all I wanted."

 

"You should have told me," Mike says. "You should have _told_ me, I could have --"

 

"Could have what?" Tom asks. "Told Jenny you were kidding? It was just a joke, sorry, I don't really want to marry you?"

 

Mike swallows hard and shrugs one shoulder. An hour ago, he'd have said no, no way, he'd never do that to Jenny.  He pictures her now, surrounded by wedding favors that'll never get used, and his heart aches.

 

"And even if I had. What would you have said? What's to say you wouldn't have taken off running like you did a couple weeks ago?"  His tone is sharp, but Mike knows there's no bite behind it.  He's just being realistic.

 

"What -- " he stops and clears his throat, his voice shakier than he expected it to be. "What were you going to say?" he asks, desperate, suddenly, with the need to know. "If you'd have gotten me alone. What were you going to say?"

 

Tom's eyes widen, and Mike's pretty sure he's blushing as he ducks his head.

 

"It's not like I, uh, had it memorized or anything."

 

Mike laughs, leaning his body into Tom's shoulder.

 

"I know, I figured, you don't --"

 

"You're my best friend. No matter what else happens, I won't let that change. You were the first person who ever made me feel at home here, and that hasn't changed in ten years. I still feel at home when you walk in a room. When we were... when we were together, I've never been more sure of something - or someone - in my life. I know that we're young but I _know_ you _._ I _know_ that we're great as friends. But we're more than that. We've always been more than that."

 

Tom trails off and finally glances up at him. Mike's pretty sure his face looks ridiculous.

 

"Oh, also, I love you. But I hope that's already clear. But, it uh. It probably would've been something like that."

 

"Oh," Mike says softly. He's kind of blown away right now, that Tom's been feeling all of that and managed to keep it in for so long.  Tom's always been the one to wear his heart on his sleeve, while Mike's been so good at keeping his emotions in check.

 

Which explains a lot, really. He's been so busy planning a life with Jenny, doing what he thought he _should_ be doing, that he'd been ignoring what was right in front of him all along.

 

"Did you really call it off?" Tom asks gently.

 

Mike just nods, not trusting himself to talk at the moment.

 

"Did she -- I mean, is she. Is she ok?" 

 

He shakes his head and lets out a sad laugh. "I'm such an asshole," he says.

 

"You're not," Tom says. "It's probably..." He trails off, and Mike knows the look on his face, the one that says _it's not my place to say anything so I'm just going to shut up._

 

"No, you're right. It's probably for the best," Mike finishes for him, "considering I've realized that I have some pretty crazy feelings for my best friend."

 

Tom swallows audibly. "Y-you do?"

 

Mike chuckles and shoves at Tom's shoulder. "And here I thought I was being pretty obvious."

 

Tom grabs his hand before he can move back away and pulls him in.

 

"Just... c'mere," he mumbles, his lips already  moving against Mike's. Their hands are clasped on Tom's thigh, and Tom's other hand finds the back of Mike's neck, quickly pulling him even closer. Their teeth clink and their knees knock, and Mike bites into Tom's bottom lip, laughing into his mouth.

 

"I guess we're a little out of practice," he says, pulling back, breath already a little ragged.

 

"Fuck that," Tom mumbles, pressing a smile into Mike's cheek. "Practice makes perfect or whatever."

 

"God, I've missed this," Mike says, leaning back in.

 

They kiss for so long that Mike's lips are numb, tingling from the scratch of Tom's beard. He can't remember when he's been this hard, dick pressed against the zipper of his jeans, and he pulls back from the kiss, his forehead pressed against Tom's as he presses the heel of his hand between his legs.

 

He's suddenly nervous, his stomach somersaulting at the very idea of Tom's bare skin against his. His mind buzzes with the possibility, and he lets out a shaky breath. "Fuck."

 

Tom laughs against Mike's neck and Mike shivers when he feels Tom's tongue there, licking a wet line to his ear.  "You should come in," he mumbles, "because I don't think it'd be a good idea for me to blow you on the front porch."

 

"Ohmygod," Mike blurts, "don't _say_ stuff like that!"

 

Tom freezes beside him, moves to pull away as he mumbles, "Sorry, I shouldn't have --"

 

But Mike grabs at him, holds him in place. "No, I mean. _Shit,_ man. You're gonna make me to off _right here_ talking like that."  It'd only gone as far as kissing, before, back when they were young and awkward and making out felt like all they needed. (If Mike went home and jerked off after hours-long kissing with Tom, well, no one could really blame him.)

 

And yeah, it might make him an asshole - his engagement literally just ended, _fuck_ , he gets it - but he's also pretty sure that no one could blame him for being 100% on board with everything when Tom stands up and extends a hand out to help him up too.

 

He feels like he's 15 again, walking home giddy, half-hard still after an afternoon spent in the treehouse with Tom, sweaty and spit-slick skin buzzing as they'd made-out for hours as he lets Tom lace their fingers together and pull him toward the door.

 

You just can't _hear_ the things that Tom just told him and not immediately want to be as close to each other as physically possible.

 

Tom closes the door behind them and immediately pushes Mike up against the hallway wall. He raises their linked fingers together above Mike's head, pushing them into the wall and moves closer, so they're pressed together chest to thigh, and Mike flat-out gasps when he feels how hard Tom is against him.

 

"Is this okay?" Tom asks, sounding as out-of-breath as Mike feels, his lips gliding over Mike's neck, desperate. Mike's dizzy.

 

"Your parents could walk --"

 

"Gone for the weekend," he interrupts, biting down lightly on Mike's clavicle.

 

" _Fuck, c'mere,"_ Mike says, turning his head to lick into Tom's mouth. Tom bites his lower lip, dragging it between his teeth, and he gasps, grinding against Tom's thigh. "Take off... take your shirt off," he gasps. He still can't believe this is happening, how much he wants it, how much he wants _Tom._

 

Tom takes a step back, the hint of a smirk on his face, and pulls his shirt up slowly, exposing inch after inch of toned, tan flesh. Mike's hands are itching to touch, and Tom is a fucking tease. Mike slides his hands up his bare sides, fingertips hot against Tom's skin, and he enjoys Tom's sharp intake of breath as his shirt comes up and off.

 

"Pushy," Tom says, and there's that teasing smirk again. It goes straight to Mike's cock and he has to close his eyes tight for a second, get himself together. "Here, you too," he hears Tom say, and then Tom's fingertips are skirting his ribs as he pulls Mike's shirt over his head and tosses it to the floor.

 

They've laid shirtless on Mike's bed countless times. Naked in the locker room, half-naked at the lake. But Mike never looked at Tom like this, never let himself, and now that he can, he doesn't ever want to stop.

 

He reaches out, hesitant, stopping before his hands can touch. He can see the bulge between Tom's legs, knows he's as turned on as he is, and all he can think about is getting his hand there.

 

He takes a small step forward and swallows his nerves. "Can I?" It comes out as a whisper, and Tom's eyes flutter closed.

 

"Yeah," he says, and when Mike gets his palm around Tom's dick and squeezes, Tom swears under his breath, hands fisting at his sides.

 

Right here, in this moment, he's the hottest thing Mike has ever seen.

 

"Jesus," Mike whispers, in awe of Tom's reaction and him in general. He steps even closer, so his hand is trapped between their jeans-clad dicks, so their chests are pressed together, Tom's skin hot against his own.

 

Tom gets his hands on his shoulder blades and digs his fingers in when Mike's hand squeezes him again. He drags his fingers down Mike's back, a hint of nails scraping down, and Mike fucking _keens_ , arching further into him. His hand slips when he arches, and suddenly they're pressed together every-fucking-where, and Mike is desperate for him now.

 

He pulls back suddenly, and doesn't miss the panicked look on Tom's face at the loss of contact. He just leans forward, catches Tom's bottom lip between his own, the kiss as desperate as his hands on Tom's fly. He fumbles with his fly for a few seconds, and stumbles back a little when Tom brings his hands down to join.

 

"Relax, bud," he whispers, a small smirk on his lips. "You do you," he says, gesturing to Mike's jeans, a sleazy tone to his voice that shouldn't make Mike laugh as loud as he does. He's always been so, so good at calming Mike down, that easy devil-may-care attitude, so fucking charming in every situation, apparently.

 

So Mike does, steps back and unbuttons his own fly, paying zero attention to anything other than watching Tom's fingers pop each button. He pushes his jeans down, letting them pool at his ankles dumbly as he gets distracted watching Tom basically shimmy out of his much tighter jeans. Tom looks him up and down, raises his eyebrow, and it takes Mike a second to get with the program, kicking his jeans to the side.

 

"There you go," Tom says, smiling at him like he scored some huge goal. He crowds Mike up against the wall again, letting his hands fall down to Mike's ass and digging his fingers in, squeezing, manhandling him right where he wants him, pressing their bodies together. Mike bites his lip at the contact, dropping his head onto Tom's shoulder and biting in.

 

"Fucking finally." He feels, more than hears, Tom exhale.

 

"Wanna get my mouth on you," Tom says against Mike's neck, and he's _really_ got to stop talking like that if he wants this to last longer than a few minutes. "Can I?"

 

Mike nods furiously, not trusting himself to speak, and Tom fucking _giggles_ before slinking to his knees and running his palms up Mike's thighs and back down again.  He leans in close, nuzzles his nose against Mike's belly, looking up at him from under his ridiculously gorgeous eyelashes. When he moves lower, mouthing Mike's cock through his boxers, he doesn't break eye contact, and Mike's legs wobble beneath him and he chokes out Tom's name.

 

"Fuck," he gasps, and just as Tom tucks his fingers in his waistband, moves to get Mike's boxers out of the way, Mike blurts, "Have you done this before?"

 

Tom blinks up at him. "What?"

 

"I mean, have you ever --" he waves his hand in the general direction of his dick and Tom's mouth, and Tom's cheeks go pink.

 

"Are you asking me if I've ever sucked a guy's dick before?" He's not smiling.

 

"I just -- I mean --" And fuck, he has no idea what he means, he has no idea why he even _asked_ that, the very thought of Tom doing this to anyone else has him sick to his stomach with jealousy.

 

Tom sits back on his heels and sighs, and no no no, Mike thinks, don't stop.

 

"This maybe isn't a great idea, huh?"

 

Mike's eyes widen and he reaches for Tom, clasps a hand on his shoulder. "What? No! I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked that, it's none of my business, _please_." He doesn't even know what he's asking for, really.  He just knows that he really doesn't want to mess this up before they even have a chance to get started.

 

"I think we... Yeah, we need to separate for a second here," Tom says, standing up and letting Mike's hand drift down to his chest. He takes a step back.

 

"Tommy." They're 10 again, with just the mention of that nickname, and Tom smiles maybe in spite of himself. "I'm sorry, I... _God_ , I want this. I don't know why I asked that. You know I'm dumb."

 

Tom shakes his head, sighing. "I want this, too. But I want _all_ of this, not just _this" -_ he gestures between their nearly naked bodies _-_ "and I want to make sure you do, too _. T_ hat this isn't just some frenzied reaction to everything that happened today. That I won't wake up tomorrow and find that I'm just your best man again. I won't - I can't handle that."

 

Mike sighs. He's screwed so much shit up today. He won't let that happen here.

 

"So if that's why you... Why you asked me that, if you're already freaking out, we can't do this. If you want to talk about... things, we can do that. Just not while you're looking like that," he finishes, his eyes fixated on Mike's chest, still flushed from excitement.

 

"Hey," Mike says, circling Tom's wrist in his fingers and reeling him back him so he can feel the heat from Tom's body again. "I'm not freaking out. I just, uh --" he smiles shyly, embarrassed. "I've obviously never, with a guy, and I was just. I don't know. Curious?"

 

"You're dumb," Tom says, but he's smiling. "Do you really want to know?"

 

It only takes him a second to answer. "No. I really don't. I can't --" he shakes his head. "Honestly? The thought of you doing that to someone else kind of makes me want to punch something."

 

Tom ducks his head, trying to hide the pleased grin on his face. "So you're saying you'd be jealous."

 

And the thing is, Mike's never had to wonder what it would be like if Tom was with someone else. He's never dated anyone seriously. But now, when he's forced to think about it, to think about Tom holding someone's hand, to think about seeing Tom kissing someone else, to think about Tom on his fucking _knees_ for some other guy -- Mike can't even fathom it.

 

"That's, uh, that's one word for it, yeah," he says, running a hand through his hair.

 

"Is it too early in this for me to tell you that turns me on?" Tom smiles that charming-as-fuck smile, that "got them out of detention in tenth grade (and then right back into it, somehow)" smile, and _oh_ , it's hopeless. Mike's gone.

 

"My jealousy?"

 

"That and your... everything, yeah."

 

Mike laughs, a smile breaking through. He glances down, where Tom is still tenting his boxer-briefs.

 

 "Ditto."

 

"So what do we do about this now?" Tom just outright-leers at him, and it sends a shiver down his spine, but it also makes him feel really, really brave.

 

"I have a couple ideas," he says, getting his hands on Tom's ribs and pushing him up against the opposite wall. They're kissing again before Tom has time to reply or Mike has time to elaborate, and Mike mirrors Tom's earlier move, gets his hands down the back of Tom's boxer-briefs and pulls them flush together, grinding his hips in-in-in until they're both gasping.

 

" _Jesus,"_ Tom groans _,_ "Great fucking idea."

 

"Can we--" Mike manages between kisses. "Just, like this?" he asks, rutting against Tom's hip, panting against his mouth.

 

"Yeah," Tom says, kissing his way down Mike's jaw as he shifts his hips so their cocks line up, hard and hot and shit, Mike's not going to last long.  His hips jerk once, twice, and he buries his face in Tom's neck as he comes so hard his eyes cross. He's simultaneously really turned on and really fucking embarrassed.

 

Before he can apologize for lasting all of thirty seconds, Tom's shuddering against him, gripping Mike's hips hard enough to leave bruises the shape of his fingertips.

 

"Holy _fuck_ ," Mike gasps, and Tom laughs, his forehead pressed to Mike's shoulder. They're both sweating, skin slick and hot, and Mike never wants to move from this spot.

 

But Tom is nuzzling his nose into Mike's shoulder and it's fucking sensory overload. He gasps and pulls back, the wet squelch of their bodies separating making them both laugh. 

 

He expects it to be awkward, and maybe if he really stopped and thought about the fact that he's come-dumb and naked in the entryway of his best friend's house, maybe it would be. But he's choosing to focus on the sweat-slick glide of Tom's hand down his arm, and the warm weight of his hand as their fingers lace together.

 

"Are you okay?" It's quiet, and Mike has to glance up to even make sure Tom has said anything.

 

"Yeah. I'm good. I mean, I'm fairly sure I'll never be able to look your mom in the eye in this hallway again, but I'm really good otherwise."

 

Tom bursts out laughing, squeezing Mike's hand, and now the entire, heart-wrenching day is looking brighter.

 

"What now?"

 

Mike looks down at body, sticky with come, and makes a face. "I need a shower."

 

Tom laughs again, shoves at Mike's shoulder. "I meant --"

 

"I know what you meant," Mike interrupts, catching Tom's and brushing his lips over the inside of his wrist.  "And I don't really have an answer. All I know is, tomorrow is going to suck, everyone in this town is going to hate me, and right now all I care about is taking a shower and going to bed." He raises his eyes to meet Tom's. "With you."

 

"We'll figure it out, ok?" Tom says, ever reassuring. "It'll be all right. We don't have to -- I mean, not right away, we can just, y'know. Be friends."

 

"I don't wanna just be your buddy anymore, Tom," Mike says, and he sees a flash of relief in Tom's eyes. He sighs, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. It's been a really long day. He's overwhelmed with a slew of emotions and frankly, he's exhausted from it.  "I'm gonna shower, ok? And then we can go to bed?"

 

Tom nods, suddenly looking as tired as Mike feels.

 

"Normally, uh, just so you know, I'd insist on showering with you. But I'm so fucking drained, dude," he says, and Mike laughs.

 

"Normally I'd drag you in there with me," he says, his eyes trailing down Tom's chest.

 

"You wouldn't have to drag me," Tom assures him, shoving at his shoulder with a smile, a "get outta here" gesture.

 

Mike smiles as he walks off toward the bathroom, completely at-home in Tom's house, where he'd spent almost more time than his own home while they were growing up.

 

He showers, body still over-sensitive, and wanders into Tom's room in search of clean boxers.

 

He's stretched out on the bed, a hand low on his - still naked, _jesus -_ chest _. M_ ike rummages through his dresser for some clean clothes and then throws himself on the bed next to Tom, a hesitant arm draping over his chest.

 

He catches a hint of a smile on Tom's face.

 

"Today's been quite a day, huh?"

 

"No fucking kidding," Mike says, hooking an ankle over Tom's.

 

They're quiet after that, and Mike closes his eyes, breathing in time with the steady rise and fall of Tom's chest.

 

He has no idea what tomorrow's going to bring, but if he has  to guess, he can expect a lecture from his dad expressing his disappointment in Mike's life choices,  a relieved hug from his mom, who was never 100% behind the wedding idea in the first place, and the cold shoulder from Jenny, her family, and all of her -- _their_ \-- friends.

 

Tom shifts next to him and presses a kiss to the top of his head, and Mike decides that for now, it doesn't matter what happens tomorrow. For now, he's content to fall asleep next to Tom and pretend the rest of the world doesn't exist.

 

They'll figure it out in the morning.

 

(Jenny's an angel.  She calls Mike the next day to ask how he's doing, and he laughs sadly, tells her he misses her already but he knows that they're doing the right thing.

 

She asks if he's with Tom, and he doesn't know if she means "are you with Tom right _now_ " or "are you _with_ Tom", so he just says "yeah" and hopes to cover all the bases.

 

He tells her he'll break the news to everyone, he'll take the blame, but she argues with him about it until he gives in - she's always had a stubborn streak, Mike should have known he'd never win. They agree to tell everyone that it was a mutual decision, that they're too young to get married and while they love each other very much, it's just not going to work out for them, and he agrees to wait on telling the whole world that he and Tom are -- well, whatever they are -- until the whole thing blows over. "I'd never embarrass you like that, Jen, you have to know that," he tells her quietly, riddled with guilt. "I didn't mean for it to happen like this. I didn't even--"

 

"I know, Mikey. I know. But really, babe - anyone with eyes can see that Tommy Wilson's been into you forever."  She laughs sadly then, her soft voice lilting through the phone, and he really hopes they can still stay friends after all of this.  "Be happy, ok?"

 

"Thanks, Jenny. You too, ok? I love you."

 

"I know you do."

 

"All good?" Tom asks when Mike's finally hung up.  He's lounging on the couch, a bowl of chips between his legs and the remote in his hand.

 

Mike sinks down next to him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Jenny said anyone with eyes knows you've been into me forever."

 

Tom doesn't even flinch. He just grins and shrugs one shoulder, nudging Mike in the ribs with an elbow. "Duh, man. Guess you just had your blinders on."

 

 


End file.
